


CLICK HERE FOR F R E E  S L U T S

by anexcessoffeels (headbuttingbears)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drunk Sex, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Extortion, Facials, Hotel Sex, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headbuttingbears/pseuds/anexcessoffeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will stared at the screen, his face blank.</p><p>"Throwback Thursday is a popular theme on the internet," Frederick said, grin audible. "These are from, what? Twenty years ago? How old <i>is</i>… Hot Cops 8: Bareback to the Academy?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	CLICK HERE FOR F R E E  S L U T S

**Author's Note:**

> AU set in some amorphous time during or after 1x06 ("Entrée"). I reference next to nothing that happens in that episode so don't worry, you haven't forgotten anything crucial.
> 
> For Jenny, who did not discourage me when I wondered if Will Graham would be the most unlikely of all ex-porn stars, and made the horrible mistake of showing me that picture of Dancy in a cop uniform. Your fault etc etc.

"You said on the phone you had something to discuss with me?" Will took the seat Frederick indicated, watching as he circled back around his desk. Frederick tried to tamp down his anticipation but knew he was failing miserably.

"Mm, yes. It's a bit delicate, not something I wanted to talk about over the phone," Frederick said. "Last week was the first time we'd met, correct? In person, I mean. I'm sure prior to that you were familiar with my work as I was with yours."

Will nodded. "Yes. Why?"

Frederick was only giving the conversation half his attention – the other half was on his laptop as he clicked through various folders. "That's what I thought. Even still, I thought I'd seen you before. You looked very... Familiar." Frederick glanced at him, fighting a smile. God, he loved surprises. Especially when he was the one doing the surprising.

Will's expression became more guarded. "Must have been at a conference or something," he suggested.

Frederick hummed. "Or something." Having located the screenshots he'd been looking for, he turned the laptop around so Will could see them. "Turns out I'm familiar with more of your work than either of us thought."

Will stared at the screen, his face blank.

"Throwback Thursday is a popular theme on the internet," Frederick said, grin audible. "These are from, what? Twenty years ago? How old _is_ … Hot Cops 8: Bareback to the Academy?" He tried his best to get the title out while keeping a straight face and mostly succeeded.

Will didn't look at him, gaze fixed on the images of his younger self. His much younger, much more _flexible_ self.

"Were you even legal?" Frederick laughed, tapping the screen with one finger. "You don't  _look_  legal."

"I was eighteen," Will said, voice flat. The only sign he was feeling anything at all was his white-knuckle grip on the arms of the chair.

"That young?" Frederick resisted the urge to whistle. "I won't ask how it happened, it's really none of my business. I assume it's Dickensian in some modern way, all very tragic. But I have to admit to a _little_ curiosity." He leaned forward in his chair, adopting a conspiratorial tone. _Just between us boys_. "I've always wondered – this isn't something you put on your resume afterwards, right? But when you apply to a police force and they do a background check, do you have to tell them about this? Does this count as prior work experience?"

Will finally looked at him, eyes hard.

"What about a university? Does this go on your CV? I mean, your filmography is... Impressive." Frederick closed the laptop deliberately. Damage done. "We're not talking about walk-on cameos here. No Truck Stop Boy #3 for you." He paused, tracing the Apple logo with one idle finger. "Does Jack Crawford know he's employing a celebrity of your caliber?"

Will was silent, staring at the closed laptop. He must have realized early on that there was no point to responding. He _had_ to know that Frederick was going to talk and he was going to have to listen and whatever was going to happen would happen. Sure, in the meantime he might be putting that exceptional imagination of his to work bludgeoning Frederick to death in his mind, spattering make-believe blood all over the desk, but he'd never actually do it.

Frederick knew his psychopathic murderers and Will Graham wasn't one of them. He was something else, something Frederick was dying to get closer to. He'd close the gap between them however he could.

"What do you want?" Will asked.

Frederick grinned. The resignation was coming off Will in waves; you didn't need to have a doctorate in recognizing human weakness to see it. "What do I want…"

Will took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. " _What_ do you _want_ ," he said again.

Frederick pursed his lips, a little put off by his tone. Really, Will should be grateful it was Frederick he was dealing with. Other people might have been far less charitable than he was prepared to be.

He tapped the laptop. "I want two hours of your time this Thursday night."

"No."

Frederick raised an eyebrow. It was a little late in the game for resistance to rear its head. "No?"

Will fiddled with his glasses. "I'm supposed to be out of state this week. Until Saturday."

 _Ah, a mere scheduling difficulty_. "Sunday afternoon then. How does that work for you?"

"Fine." Shoulders slumped, he put his glasses back on. "I'm not bringing my old uniform," he said abruptly, briefly locking eyes with Frederick, displeasure palpable. "I don't even have it anymore," he muttered.

Frederick leaned back in his chair, eyeing Will. "Everyone knows you're observant, Mr. Graham, there's no need to show off. Not yet, anyway."

Will rolled his eyes and looked pointedly away.

"Besides, I can always just rent one for you," he admitted, just to see what would happen.

Will bolted to his feet, knocking the chair back precariously. "We're done now," he said, heading for the door.

Frederick beat him to it in an undignified rush, blocking his way.

Will backed up considerably, almost stumbling in his haste to put more distance between them.

Frederick smiled coyly at him. "I'll call you with the details later."

"F-Fine," Will said. "But we're done after this. Two hours. That's it."

Frederick rubbed a hand over the doorknob, not turning it yet. "That's all I want. And you'll never hear another word on the matter from me again. Scout's honor."

Will nodded stiffly, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. "Fine. Whatever."

Frederick gave him one last considering look – how much had changed after twenty years? What did he look like now under all those unflattering layers of clothes? – before he opened the door, waving Will out. "Sunday afternoon," he called after him.

Will Graham didn't run away, but it seemed a very near thing.

 

Sunday seemed to approach at a snail's pace, the week dragging along in a haze of paperwork and patient assessments and a truly unhealthy amount of porn. Frederick was only going to get one shot at this, and he wanted to make it count. So he watched and rewatched as much of Will Graham's back catalog as he could get his greedy hands on, ostensibly trying to decide which scene he wanted to reenact. But he already knew, and Will had picked up on it: Hot Cops 8. Not a big-budget flick by any means, it was generally remembered – when it was remembered at all – for being the last in a long series of increasingly absurd and shockingly unfunny riffs on a once-popular film franchise that had gone much the same way.

But it was one of "Tom Swift"'s first appearances and he – shockingly enough given the rest of his career – hadn't bottomed in it. Whoever was responsible for the Hot Cops franchise had apparently taken a look at 18-year-old Will Graham and said, "I want this kid getting blown on tape _stat_."

And Frederick was very grateful. He had fond memories of spending lazy afternoons in his office, jerking off between staff meetings to the sight of academy trainee Tom undergoing a "stamina assessment" courtesy of his sergeant. The quality wasn't the best – the sound crackled in his headphones and the picture was grainy even on a retina screen – but it added a certain sleazy _je ne sais quoi_ to the whole thing that just made it hotter.

"You think you can make it on the force, kid? We only take the best," the bear of a sergeant had said, unzipping Tom's pants.

"I _am_ the best," an anxious yet determined Trainee Tom said. "All I want to be in life is a hot cop."

"Then let's find out if you've got what it takes."

Dialog? Laughable yet weirdly prophetic. Another case of life imitating art, Frederick supposed. Providing one considered trashy gay porn "art."

It was a struggle trying to sync up the two mental images he had of Will Graham. The man – taciturn, perpetually disheveled and unshaven, watchful, all the signs and polite hostilities of a burned out prodigy – was very different from the boy – fresh-faced, frequently naked, with the subtle air of _nervous but game for anything_ that twinks seem to cultivate. The contrast was stark; no wonder it had taken Frederick so long to remember seeing him before. Will Graham and Tom Swift were, for all intents and purposes, wholly disparate.

Except for how both seemed willing to sleep with people for reasons other than love or lust. That was more than fine with Frederick; if Will wanted to close his eyes and think of his reputation then he was welcome to do so. In the meantime, Frederick would see if he couldn't find more commonalities between Will and Tom.

 

All of a sudden it was Sunday afternoon, and Frederick was sitting in the only chair next to the only table in a hotel room, opening a new bottle of scotch. It wasn't expensive, but it certainly wasn't rotgut either. The same could be said of the room: not expensive, but not flea-infested.

Frederick had arrived an hour early, impatient, garment bag in tow. He hadn't been joking about renting a uniform for Will, although he'd had to guess what size he wore – for some reason he hadn't been able to bring himself to ask Will outright what his pant size was. The clerk at the costume shop had given him a look like she knew exactly why he was renting a beat cop uniform on a Sunday afternoon. He'd hustled out of the place, convinced if he'd lingered a second longer than necessary she would've told him to get himself to church. Darting into the liquor store next door had seemed a perfectly logical reaction.

Just as Frederick got the cap off the bottle there was a sharp bang in the tiny adjacent bathroom, followed closely by a muffled curse. He took a swig straight from the bottle, wincing at the liquor's warmth.

Then the bathroom door opened and out stepped… Well, not Tom Swift, that was for sure. A person would need an awfully thick pair of beer goggles to think modern-day Will Graham looked anything like his old porn star alter ego, even after a shave and an attempt at combing his hair. He was rubbing his elbow, a sullen expression on his face.

Frederick cleared his throat. "Looks like it fits," he said, shifting his loose grip on the bottle of scotch. As he watched Will adjust the oversized utility belt that kept slipping down his hips, it struck him that this had been a terrifically _bad_ idea. It was just like Frederick to plunge ahead without thinking, chase after his own desires heedless of other people's feelings, and then wake up to a mess of his own making. Someday he'd learn the hard way that this was no way to live.

Will grimaced, plucking at the shirt. "Barely. It's a bit tight."

 _But today is not that day_. Frederick tilted his head, openly considering him. "It's fine."

Will looked away, standing awkwardly before the bathroom. "Whatever you say." He made an abortive motion, as if to adjust glasses that weren't there – must have left them with the rest of his clothes.

The silence that settled in the room was as uncomfortable as the bed looked. Frederick hadn't so much as sat on it yet; he was starting to regret not shelling out for a better room in a better hotel.

_What the hell am I doing?_

"Glenlivet?"

He looked up at Will's face; it must have looked like he'd been staring at his crotch. Which… He had been. Those pants were _tight_. "What?"

"What are you drinking?"

"No, uh…" He had to check the label to remind himself; he'd grabbed the first thing he'd seen. "Johnnie Walker."

"Oh." Will shifted from one foot to the other, looking as nervous as Frederick had started to feel the moment Will had disappeared into the bathroom with the garment bag.

Frederick grabbed one of the glasses stacked on the table, pouring a few fingers of scotch and holding it out to Will.

Who didn't move.

"I'm not going to roofie you," Frederick sniffed. "That would be excessive." When Will still didn't make any move to accept it, Frederick shrugged and tossed it back himself, making a face at the temperature. He should've grabbed some ice while he was waiting.

Will sighed, hunched shoulders falling as he came to some internal conclusion. Frederick recognized that look now, that go-along-to-get-along manner. Will Graham, much like Tom Swift, would take the path of least resistance.

 _No wonder he's working with Jack Crawford_ , Frederick thought. Another mystery solved.

"Better make it a double," Will said, rubbing a hand against his thigh before he took a seat on the bed across from Frederick – not out of any kind of desire, but because a quick glance around the room made it clear there was nowhere else to sit unless he took the floor. He accepted the glass Frederick handed him and drank it without complaint, stretching forward to pass it back.

"Another?" Frederick filled his own glass first.

Will shrugged jerkily. "Sure. Why not." He was sitting on the bed like he didn't know whether he wanted to stay or go, all wide eyes and restless fingers tugging a loose thread in the bedspread, knees pressed tight together. He looked _younger_.

Frederick handed him the refilled glass, licking his lips when he watched Will's throat work as he drank it down. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. It could work. It _would_ work. A couple more drinks and when he suggested they get started it would sound smooth. Natural.

Just a couple more drinks. They didn't have all day to waste.

 

"Who even _needs_ a microwavable chip maker? Who makes their own chips?" Will asked, squinting at the TV from where he lay on the bed, half-full glass pillowed on his chest.

"Chip connoisseurs?" Frederick offered, sloshing more scotch into his glass and onto his hand. He hoped his wristwatch was booze-proof. It still worked, anyway. 3:30pm; they'd been drinking for almost ninety minutes and were no closer to doing the deed they were there to do in the first place.

He sipped his warm scotch, peering at Will. Neither of them had bothered to get any ice, and neither of them cared anymore. Really, this was probably an elaborate plan on Graham's part to run out the two hours they'd agreed upon. Get Frederick drunk enough and he wouldn't have to make good on their deal. Not that it was much of a deal. It was extortion, plain and simple. There was no deal when it came to extortion.

But, ultimately, wasn't this Will's fault? The sodden gears in Frederick's head started to turn. If Will had never done porn when he was younger then there wouldn't have been anything for Frederick to stumble across, bored and vaguely horny months ago. And really, if it hadn't been Frederick then someone else would've come across it eventually. Frankly he would be surprised if this hadn't happened before, but then again the videos _were_ twenty years old and the internet got bigger every day.

 _Still, things like this never stayed buried no matter how deep the hole_ , he mused, sipping his drink.

"They don't ship to Alaska?" Will scoffed, expressing his disgust with a swig of his drink. "What a rip off." His hair had regained its customary unruly appearance, and he looked as drunk as Frederick felt.

Frederick decided to take it as a sign from the universe when nothing came out of the bottle after he tried to refill his surprisingly empty glass. 3:32pm. Twenty-something minutes to go. The moment was now. Strike while the iron was hot.

Strike while Will Graham still had scotch in his glass.

Frederick rose from the chair, one hand resting casually on the table and not at all for balance. The walk to the bed was short and about as steady as a stroll across a rescue dinghy in rough seas; sitting on the bed was more like flopping onto the bed.

Will turned his attention away from the television to look at him, eyes hooded and glassy. "Yes, Doctor Chilton?"

"Are you going to finish that?" Concerned he was being too ambiguous, he pointed at Will's glass.

"Maybe, why?" Will still looked suspicious of him. Hadn't they just spent the last hour watching the Home Shopping Network together and drinking? Didn't that count as bonding? But maybe he was still concerned about his virtue. Rightfully concerned.

Frederick shifted closer to him. The bed creaked loudly. "Can I have it?"

Will laughed, but not like he thought Frederick was funny. It was more of an annoyed _you're on my last nerve_ sort of laugh; Frederick knew that laugh well. "You want everything else of mine, of course you want my drink too," Will muttered.

Frederick frowned. Was he supposed to respond to that? He rolled his head back against the pillows and looked at Will, who was pointedly looking at the television. Still with the chip maker. "You could've just said no."

A grunt. "As if that would've worked."

Frederick digested that. "Why wouldn't it? I'm not going to fight you for it. You'd win. Unless you're talking about your virtue. You still would've win. Won."

"What?" Will looked positively flummoxed, clutching his glass closer.

"Are we not talking about your virtue?" Frederick asked. He just wanted a drink. And to give Will a blowjob. He checked his watch. "Look, we've only got about twenty minutes left so if you don't object I'm just going to blow you already like we agreed I could."

Will turned, expression vaguely alarmed. "Are you serious?"

Frederick frowned, leaning in to settle a clumsy hand on Will's thigh, trying for charming and landing hard on drunken lecher. "Do I not look serious?"

The alarm wasn't going away. "You'd fight me?"

"I said I _wouldn't_ fight you," Frederick corrected him, rubbing his thigh. "You're an ex-cop, I figured if you _really_ didn't want to then you could have killed me and hidden my body where it would never be found."

Will laughed that bored laugh again, shaking his head slowly. "So this is how people like you think. I didn't say no enough so that means I must secretly want to do this? This is _my_ fault?"

Frederick ignored him. "Not to mention you have that brain. You could've come up with _anything_. Your brain is…" He trailed off, grappling for a word that summed up how much he wanted to study Will Graham's mind. "I could write a book about your brain," he said sincerely.

Will smiled. "And now you'll never get the chance." He gulped down the remainder of his scotch. "You shouldn't have blackmailed me, Frederick."

Frederick groaned, shaking his head and sliding his hand up to Will's crotch. "Do you want me to apologize? I'm sorry, Officer Graham. I promise I'll never do it again." He had Will's belt undone, his pants open and his dick out before the man could raise any more objections. Frederick took a moment to mentally pat himself on the back for that feat of truly amazing drunken coordination before he leaned down to suck on the head of Will's dick and make him gasp. He heard the glass hit the floor with a thunk.

Will was soft but he wasn't resisting, and to Frederick that was as good as permission. Unfortunately he was at a bad angle for this. The lumpy hotel bed had no give in it whatsoever, his neck was starting to cramp up, and why, why hadn't he gone for a better room. He pulled off of Will's dick – still soft, maybe he really _wasn't_ interested – and lurched to a stand, grabbing at Will's legs and manhandling him around so he was laying across the bed, feet on the floor.

"What-"

Frederick dropped to the floor, pushing between Will's legs to kneel on the cheap shag carpet. His head spun and he had to grip Will's thighs for balance for a second, closing his eyes against the slight vertigo. Frederick swallowed, swallowed again, and then opened his eyes and looked back up at Will – more like at the faintly blurry shape of him propped up on his elbows. Frederick licked his palm and wrapped his hand around Will's dick, pumping it slowly. Will finally, _finally_ responded, eyes rolling briefly back as he gave a small gasp, dick twitching slightly. Another few pumps, slow and tight like Frederick himself liked, and it started to stiffen up.

"I can't promise professional quality," Frederick murmured before leaning forward to lick a stripe up the underside to the head. Will's eyes squeezed shut as Frederick took him into his mouth – properly this time, easier with the better angle, and better not just for him alone because Will was swelling against his tongue, growing in his mouth, and fuck that was hot. It made Frederick want to suck more, harder, and he did, in the single-minded fashion of the determined inebriate.

He stared up the length of Will's body at his face as he went to town, sucking and slurping and generally making a sloppy mess of things while Will bit his lip, gripped the bedspread with claw-like hands, and seemingly did everything he could to keep from making any kind of noise. Finally Frederick had enough, and pulled off of Will's cock with a filthy pop to say, "Come on, Will, at least fake a little enthusiasm. I know you can."

"Jesus, shut up," Will groaned, and his hand fumbled at Frederick's shoulder for a moment before sliding up the side of his neck to settle on his head. "Fuck, I can't believe I agreed to this- Ah!" Will pushed his fingers through Frederick's hair and, grip tight enough to hurt, urged him back down. Frederick shuddered and went back to sucking at his cock greedily, mindlessly.

Will shifted forward on the bed, legs spreading a bit wider, and his hand rested heavily on Frederick's head, pulling him in closer. Frederick could just see his face from where he knelt now, barely made out his head lolling back, mouth open as he gasped and panted. His hand spasmed when Frederick swirled his tongue just the once, and then his hold tightened, one ragged fingernail scratching against Frederick's scalp. Frederick released his grip and rested both hands on Will's thighs, the thin material soft under his palms. He let Will's hand hold his head in place, and if he hadn't been as drunk as he was he never could have done this. He'd never managed it sober, but when he felt dick hit the back of his throat he just relaxed further, practically boneless, and let Will fuck his throat. It was only when he made the mistake of trying to inhale that things went bad, that he started to choke, and he gave Will's legs a hard squeeze as he pulled away fast, coughing.

"Oh god," Will moaned. Frederick coughed, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand, and he let Will tug at his head for a moment before going back down to suckle his cock noisily, one hand braced against his leg.

"Ah! Ah, fuck. Jesus, Jesus Christ, I'm-"

Frederick pulled off again and sat back on his heels, staring up at Will. "Come on my face."

Will groaned, eyebrows knitting, the potent combination of confusion, arousal, and intoxication taking twenty years off his face. " _What?_ No, let me just-"

Frederick rubbed his palm over the cock head and fisted it, his own copious spit and Will's precome a source of easy lubrication. "We had an agreement, Will. Just like in the movie. Now, _please_ come on my face," and Will groaned again, helpless, then took his cock in hand and pumped it quickly half a dozen times before the first warm rope of come hit Frederick's face and he had to close his eyes.

Again and again and again, and Will's deep groan of satisfaction rang in Frederick's ears as he frantically popped the button and fly on his slacks and shoved his hand down his pants, pushing his underwear down to pull out his own hard cock. He swiped two fingers down his cheek before shoving them into his mouth to suck the come off them as he tugged at his dick. Did it again, open palm this time, tongue lapping up the hot salty fluid and he stared up at Will's shocked face, at his deep blush, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Frederick imagined how he looked from Will's point of view – the fluorescent lighting wouldn't flatter the spit-slick shininess of his mouth, the glistening spatters of come on his face, his hair that was undoubtedly a mess – and his eyes squeezed shut as he came, cock spitting over his tight fist, free hand reaching out to clutch at Will's knee.

Frederick opened his eyes, feeling a distinct sense of lost time. He blinked hard, trying to clear his head; if Will's legs hadn't bracketed him he might've toppled over. He'd pillowed his head on Will's thigh at some point; when he sat up he could see faint shiny smears on the polyester covering his inner thigh. His face felt gross. He closed his eyes again. "What time is it?"

The sound of movement above him somewhere on the bed. "Uh... Ten after four. Do you know where my glasses are?"

"I only booked this room until four," Frederick said.

Suddenly there was a loud banging on the front door that made them both jump. "House cleaning!"

"Oh my god," Will groaned. There was the unmistakable sound of a hand landing with a slap against a face.

"This is not happening," Frederick said, dropping his head against the bed between Will's legs. "I reject this."

Will shifted on the bed, legs drawing away from Frederick. "We need to- Fuck, I'm so drunk. Okay, we need to- What are you laughing about? Laughing is not helping."

Frederick couldn't help it, just like he couldn't stop staring at Will's pantleg. "I got come on your pants. So much for my deposit." He wiped a hand over his face and winced at the glue-like sticky coldness. "And on the bed skirt."

The banging resumed. "House cleaning! I'm coming in." There was a rattle at the door.

Frederick lurched to his feet, swaying dangerously. Normally he'd be panicking but he was too fucked out and drunk to care. The panic would come later, after he put his dick back in his pants. "I'm going to hide in the bathroom. You scare her away."

Will had gotten his own dick and pants sorted out but was still sitting on the bed, struggling with his utility belt. He glared at Frederick. " _How_?"

"You're wearing a police uniform. Pretend to be a cop. You're good at pretending, aren't you?" Frederick said before he slammed the bathroom door shut, setting the garment bag hanging on the back swinging. Wash face first; hide in bathtub behind shower curtain second. Frederick was pleased to see that, liquored up though he might be, he was still capable of cobbling together a plan to save his own ass.

Even if Will Graham might beat that same ass later.

**Author's Note:**

> I based the Hot Cops franchise on the Police Academy films because I'm terrible. Can you imagine poor Will in 90s slapstick gay porn? I can and it's hilarious.


End file.
